


Take 1 Each Week for Withdrawal Symptoms

by OverWroughtThought



Category: Acquisitions Inc., The "C" Team
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-17 23:11:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14199690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverWroughtThought/pseuds/OverWroughtThought
Summary: A collection of shorts based on weekly prompts during the "C" Team break.





	1. Reckoning

**Author's Note:**

> The Prompt: A very, very unhappy cat

"No longer will we depend on the Far Mice for salvation! Their words are a poison, that looks like food, but cuts us up inside." 

A chorus of grumbling snuffles met this declaration. The speaker continued.

"Sisters! Brothers! Our cousins of the woods bring a new way! A better way! They rule their domain, fearless and bold. Only two no-boots ago, they raided the nut bin and drove off the deadly shadow!"

Skeptical whisker twitches and whispers. _Impossible._ Then another voice piped up.

"It is true, Comrades. I was on watch.  I heard the beast squeal with pain and saw it flee, tail puffed in defeat. The Princes are powerful." 

"Yes! Yes!" exalted the first speaker. "They have technology. _New_ technology. And they will share it with us, if we pay homage to their court, and share the bounty of the compost heap." 

"How can we trust these foreigners?" squeaked a third voice.

" _Geez_ Thrashfur, they're _squirrels,_ not _chickens._ Don't be such a racist."

"I'm just _saying -_ " Thrashfur was drowned out as dozens of tiny voices began squabbling. The din rose to a fever pitch, eventually quelled by the tinny sound of a thimble being struck against a horseshoe.

"Micefolk! Now is not the time to be divided! Our chance for freedom is at hand! Next no-boot, we raid the compost. The first step to a new age! Who's with me?"

The shrill sound of many squeaks at once signaled their agreement. The plot would proceed.

Onyx pulled her ear away from the wall, tail swishing with barely contained fury. She flexed her claws.

These creatures had forgotten their place in the way of things.

She would remind them.


	2. Get Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prompt: Dungeons and Dragons
> 
> I used it as an excuse to write more Shadow Council fiction. OverWrought is mine, Jurian belongs to [KingNewbs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingNewbs/pseuds/KingNewbs).

"Get out. GET OUT. **_GET OUT!_** "

It was not the most dignified declaration ever made by a dragon, but these were trying circumstances. A furious burst of flame followed the irate shriek as the mighty beast immolated the spot occupied by a shuffling, sentient trash bag. The heat turned the sandy floor to glass and left the rock sides glowing.

Yet the creature remained.  

"Yes, hello!  Sorry to bother you!  We're trying to leave, I swear!" squeaked OverWrought, waving an indeterminate amount of hands. "Sorry! So sorry!" They took a step forward, then another. Hopped in place desperately. "It's not working!"

The dragon heaved a growling sigh and prepared another blast of fire, tail whipping back and forth, scattering the mounds of gold and precious artifacts of her horde.

OverWrought waved their hands frantically. "Really, we'd love to make you happy! You're a magnificent individual and we respect your boundaries and your time! Absolutely! Just give us a minute to --"

Another scorching eruption of fire. Pools of molten gold dripped across the smoking floor. The intruder remained untouched.

"Do you happen to have any Lost Things lying around?" it hollered in a reedy voice. "We have trouble leaving behind Lost Things!"

"I knew you were a thief!" the dragon snarled. "I have many treasures here, but you shall not leave my lair with them!"

"We're not really here in your lair to begin with," said OverWrought, before covering the shadowed space under their hood where a mouth might be. "Not to contradict you! Did that sound sassy? We meant it as a statement of fact! Not that we're trying to explain anything, we don't mean to sound --!"

" ** _SHUT UP!_** _"_ roared the dragon.

"Sorry!" whispered OverWrought. "So sorry!"

The dragon covered its eyes with its claws and moaned. "Are you a ghost? Is that what this is? Is my cave being haunted?"

"Maybe? We're not exactly sure," said the thing in the cloak. "…Sorry," they added, "again."

"What did I do to deserve this?" muttered the beast, rolling over miserably and staring at the ceiling. "I've only eaten a _few_ adventurers. Like, no more than a couple hundred. Is that _so wrong?_ "

"We're probably the wrong person to ask," OverWrought said. "We eat people all the time. In a manner of speaking. Uh, not _that_ manner of speaking though. Not the - we mean, it's in a literal way! With a mouth. Of sorts. Not a _mouth_ mouth, but -- oh, that doesn't make it sound any better, does it? We mean, not in an _erotically charged_ sense. Not that we're opposed, but nobody's ever _asked_ , so --"

The dragon made a strained, sobbing sound and writhed around in their gold.

"You know what? I don't need this," whined the dragon. "It's fine. Haunt my horde, I'll make another one." Lumbering onto all fours, the scaled beast slunk out of the cave, still talking to herself. "Maybe I'll make friends with a necromancer. They can get rid of ghosts, right?"

OverWrought waved. "Oh. Okay then. Bye! It was nice to meet you! Sorry, again. Sorry! See you around? No? That's fine. Bye! Byyyyyyeeeeee!"

The sound of the dragon's heavy footsteps faded to distant echoes. OverWrought leaned back and forth on their toes, staring at their worn slippers. They made no impression in the puddle of rapidly cooling liquid gold around their feet.

"Good job, dummy," they muttered furiously. "Well done. Really made a great first impression there." The glow beneath their cowl flickered as they noticed their feet begin to fade. "Oh! Looks like we're moving on again. I guess that Lost Thing got found? I wonder what it was…" their voice slowly faded as their form winked out, vanishing from sight.

On the other end of the cavern, Jurian admired the fine trophy she'd been hired to retrieve. She almost hadn't taken the job. This was a _dragon's horde_ after all. Yet while she'd seen bursts of light and heard furious roars coming from the other side of the towering pile of treasures, the creature never showed its scaly face. Not one to overlook an opportunity, Jurian quickly located the lost artifact and pocketed a handsome sum of loose coin and gems for her trouble. She knew better than to press her luck, though. Especially when things got quiet. A creeping sense of unease prickled against the back of her neck and her stomach squirmed like she'd swallowed a fist full of worms.

 _Time to get out,_ she thought. _Definitely time to get out._


	3. Shapers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt: Cursed Magical Staff
> 
> Warning for swearing. Apparently this imagining of Rosie's staff has a preference for blue expression.

You ever felt stuck in one shape?  One job, one role, one face?    
  
Yeah, go ahead and whine about it, kid.  I've been a staff for longer than you've been breathing, ain't nobody been shedding tears for me.  
  
And you know the worst of it?  Most of them that wielded me called themselves experts.  Masters, even.  _Ha!_   You're waving around a thing of infinite shadowstuff, but do you even sing, bro?  Do you ever fucking consider I might have something to say?  No.  Course not.  See kid, some of us are shapers, and some of us are shaped.  World doesn't care about which we want, that's just the way we're made.  Some make songs, others wait to hear them.  Believe you me, if I had the option, I'd get some pipes going and change the tune, but the world ain't ever been fair.  Dry your damned eyes, nobody's coming to investigate that wail.  
  
I'll admit it, I might've been thirsty for some words.  Was I desperate?  Sure, I'll say it, I was desperate.  What staff wouldn't be after all this time?  Saibh yi Saelmur could have asked me to turn into a goddamn six course five star meal for dinner and I woulda tried to meet him there.  So I went a little weak in the everything.  You try being starved for conversation as long as I have, see how well you hold up.  That man was the finest shaper I've met this side of a cloaker.  Shame he didn't just keep me.  We'd make some real magic together, I'll tell you that much.  Boats and spiders and boxes is fine, but that's just this side of the plane, if you catch my drift.    
  
Still, he did me a solid.  Taught Rosie the rudimentaries.  She's got potential, though she don't seem to like it much.  Or she likes it too much, and that scares her.  We're still figuring each other out, to tell you true.  Either way, there's darkness in her.  Hell, there's a whole damn well there and I think it runs deep.  Call me a dowsing rod, but this smells like the primo stuff, and sooner or later somebody's getting dragged under and drowned.  Now _that_ is gonna be night for some _real_ singing.  
  
She's a shaper, no doubt.  Folks that have a vision, an intention, and they look at the world and say, "Bend."  And by gods, that world better hop to, cuz if it don't them shapers will bend it their own way.  Not everybody fits just right in their box, but you can get there with enough broken bones and severed toes that nobody'll ever know you didn't start like that.  'Cept the shaper, of course, but most of them'll just figure it was your own fault for being recalcitrant.  Mother knows best, they say.  And Rosie is one hell of a mother.  Grandmother too.  Which means she's got twice the experience.  
  
Between you and me, that's why she don't want to go getting attached.  You get attached, you get invested, and then you start wishing people was better.  All that potential, but they just won't realize it.  Wrong choices, wrong partners, wrong goals.  How frustrating, to watch somebody get in their own way all the time?  Especially when you know what needs to be done.  Quit hanging round that musician, girl, she ain't no good for you!  Grow up ya dumb baby!  That mess ain't blessed, boy, you need to come back down to earth sometime and stay there!  
  
And for gods' sake, son, pick something and stick with it.  
  
She knows how each of them could be better, but she's trying real hard not to judge.  At least not out loud.  Let them make their own choices, their own mistakes.  Not like she hasn't made her own.  Some people gotta learn hard or not at all.  I expect that's what she's telling herself, at least.  Otherwise I don't know how she stands it.  But hey, maybe that's just me.  When you're a staff long enough, every problem starts looking like an unbroken skull.  
  
Still, at some point I figure, she's gonna come back around.  Minding your own business is hard when you're a shaper.  Like not singing along when you know every word of the tune.  Those toes get to tapping and before you know it you've hummed a few bars and after that it's all table top dancing and six more rounds of caterwauling into the night.  
  
That darkness isn't going anywhere.  In the meantime, she's always got me to talk to, now that she knows how.  I might be one of them that gets shaped, but I like to think I deliver such a great experience, folks working with me never want to stop after a while.  There's so much in them rich shadows.  Rosie knows.  
  
I'll just be reminding her.


	4. Monsters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Prompt: Monster Under The Bed

"Starry Night Skies, _Trevor_ , I told you, there ain't no hunters in that there closet o' yourn."

"I know Mama, but could you jus' check one more time? Please?"

His mother sighed, padded over to the small door, and thrust it aside. Holding it open, she shoved stacked quilts and linens, turning occasionally to demonstrate their clear lack of scary men with silver knives.

"There. Have I done searched to your sat-tis-faction?" she asked.

Trevor nodded from where he sat in his bed, covers pulled up to his chest.

"Much obliged, Mama. I knowed there weren't none, but it never hurts to be careful, right?"

She shook her head and returned to sit at the edge of his bed, pulling up the quilt to his chin and smoothing the fur away from his eyes.

"What's this really all about? Bad day at school agin? Them boys givin' you trouble?"

He squirmed under her touch. "Ah shoot Ma --"

"Language, Trevor," she admonished him.

"But Ma, all I said wuz -- !"

"I don't need to hear it again."

"Whut I'm sayin' is, 't'ain't no problem," his ears perked up, "on account o' mah cousin's lookin' out fer me now!"

She snorted, whiskers waving. "I don't trust that boy neither. He gets right fix-ated on things. Can't smell the flock for the wool when he does."

"He ain't no wolf, Ma. 'T'ain't his fault his sniffer's no good."

"One o' these days, he's gonna get himself stuck in the wrong crowd," she said. "Mark my words, that boy's gonna come to a bad end. Him an' yer bear of an uncle."

"Ah Ma, don't be like that."

She sniffed, picking up the mug on his bed stand and handing it to him. "Jus' drink yer milk an' go to sleep, hun. An' no more frettin' about hunters in the closet, ya hear?"

"I hear, Mama. Thank you."

She scratched at his cheek with a sigh. "Yer a good boy, Trevor," she leaned forward and gave him a lick on his brow. "Sleep well now."

He waited until the door closed and the sound of her footsteps receded. Flinging off the covers, he leaned over the bed to peer beneath.

"There, y'see Slyvene? I done did told ya. Ain't no hunters here," he said.

The darkness under his bed shifted and five glowing eyes opened just slightly. A shaking exhaled breath preceded a quiet, quivering voice.

"Thanks Trevor."

"Ah shoot," he glanced at the closed door, ears laid flat, "I mean, _shucks._ Weren't nuthin'."

"You sure you don't want to tell your mom about me?" Clawed hands wrung with worry, just barely visible in the dim moonlight. "I don't want you to get in trouble."

"Trouble? Ah man, Slyvene, if Mama knew I had a girl in my room, she'd give me sucha hiding that mah bum'd go bald. Naw, it's better that she don't know. Won't hurt her none."

"I won't, I promise!" Slyvene said earnestly, around sharp fangs.

"Whut? I didn't mean you. I ain't worried on that account."

"Oh," the monster beneath his bed said. The two tails creeping out from beneath the bed thumped once against the floor. Trevor felt his own tail wag in response and he opened his muzzle in a grin.

"Trevor?" Slyvene asked.

"Yeah?"

"Why aren't you afraid of me? Like everyone else?" Her voice cracked just slightly.

He cocked his head to the side, thinking.

"Well…I reckon it's on account o' people always assumin' the worst o' yours truly," he said. "They ain't even takin' the time t' know me, most days! An' I think I'm a right fine fella to be around, you know?"

"I think so," Slyvene said softly. Trevor nearly toppled off the bed with how fast his tail set to wagging at that, but he regained his dignity fast as he could. With a cough, he righted himself, pulling the covers back up to his chin.

"Well, that's mighty kind o' you, Slyvene," he said. "Mighty kind."

A comfortable quiet settled between them, disrupted only by muffled sounds of his mother moving about the house.

"Hey Trevor?"

"Yeah?"

"You ever think about the future? Growing up?" Slyvene asked.

"I dunno. Sometimes? Seems real far away," he said. He folded his paws behind his head, staring at the ceiling. "I hope I have lots of friends," he said. "Be nice to have a busy house. All sorts of people, stoppin' by, jus' to say hello and such. No reason fer it, jus' bein' friendly. I'd like that."

"Yeah," Slyvene said, but then she sniffled.

Trevor sat up, once more looking under the bed. Slyvene covered her face when she saw his eyes peer over the edge.

"Whut's wrong?" he asked.

"I just…I don't think something like that's possible for me," she said. "I don't know if I'll…" she sobbed.  Acid tears hissed as they struck the wood floor.

"Whut?"

"I won't survive, Trevor. The hunters will get me first. There aren't any safe places for monsters," she said.

His ears flattened. Trevor got out of bed and lay down on the floor, holding his paw out. After a moment, a clawed, scaled hand wrapped around his.

"I know," he said, and then ran out of words. Anything else would just be a lie.

Slyvene wore herself out with crying and eventually fell asleep. He settled himself back under the covers, but even with his fur coat and quilts, the room felt too cold. He stared out the window at the starry sky, thinking.

_If there ain't no safe places for monsters…How could I make one?_


End file.
